


i pretend you're mine (all the damn time)

by quakeriders



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Flirting, Jealousy, Mention of past relationships, Roommates, Sharing Clothes, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 11:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: Rhys had been in the shower for the past fifteen minutes, doing god knows what and through the steam she could barely make out the mess before her.The shower rod and curtain had come loose, water was spraying everywhere and in the midst of it all, she saw a tangled mess of long, muscled limbs.or: in which Feyre and Rhys are roommates.... (oh my god)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote and posted these on tumblr a while back and just noticed that i didn't post them here so...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @illyrian-bookworm asked for: “you slipped in the shower so I had to come and help you, but cover up for Christ sakes!”

Feyre was standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta and listening to the tv in the background, when a terrible hitch-pitched yell echoed through the apartment.

For a second, she had no idea what the sound was but then she heard a muffled curse and groaning and she threw the wooden spoon on the counter and rushed for their bathroom.

The door was unlocked and she didn’t think twice about it before she barged in.

Rhys had been in the shower for the past fifteen minutes, doing god knows what and through the steam she could barely make out the mess before her.

The shower rod and curtain had come loose, water was spraying everywhere and in the midst of it all, she saw a tangled mess of long, muscled limbs.

His golden brown skin was wet and gleaming and covered in foam in some places and forgetting the terror of the situation, Feyre couldn’t help let her eyes follow the curved lines of muscles that were his arms.

“Fuck.” Rhys groaned again and the mess before her heaved, the rod moving until it got stuck between him and the wall. “Fuck.”

“What happened?” Feyre gasped, finally forcing herself to stop ogling her roommate and took a few steps closer.

One of his eyes was shut tightly, trying to avoid the soap that ran down from his brow. The other fixed on her. “What does it look like?”

She couldn’t help it. She chuckled.

Rhys made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort, before he sighed heavily. “Will you please help me, oh wonderful roommate of mine?”

Now it was Feyre’s turn to snort. “Sorry, I didn’t quite get that?”

Rhys groaned, trying to move again but he was still stuck. “_Please_?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but leaned down to untangle him from the mess. Somehow he had managed to wedge the rod so tightly between his back and the wall that he couldn’t move without impaling himself on it.

Feyre forced herself not to let her eyes drift further down. Actually, had to bite her lip to stop herself. “You need to hold still.”

Rhys grumbled, “Somehow, I don’t think that will be the problem, Feyre darling.”

She let out another snort before pressing one of her hands to his back and wrapping the other around the rod. “Smart ass.” She just said and yanked the rod back with a sharp yank.

It came free and she stumbled back, landing on her ass. “Ouch.”

Then, Rhys was getting to his feet, right before her and when she looked up at him, her traitorous eyes didn’t find his face but got stuck along the way.

Heat rushed to her face as the breath went out of her lungs in a harsh exhale.

“My eyes are up here.” Rhys crooned her and she watched as he shifted a little, jutting out his groin and placing a hand on his hip for emphasis.

“You’re welcome, prick.” Feyre spat, finally averting her gaze and getting to her feet.

But Rhys was just standing there, smirking stupidly at her. Feyre wanted to smack him, but she wasn’t sure if she would be able to stop touching him once she started.

“Of course, where are my manners?” Rhys purred. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss against the back of it. She stumbled forward as he did so and watched him wide eyed.

“Thank you, Feyre darling, for coming to my aid in my time of need. I owe you my eternal gratitude.” He whispered against her knuckles and Feyre had to suppress a shiver.

“Shut up, you prick.” Feyre bit out and, damn her, her eyes were already sneaking down his chest again. The smell of citrus and sea was so much more intense with half of the body wash still clinging to his skin. “Would it kill you to cover yourself?”

His fingers flexed around hers and the grin he gave her made her stomach clench. “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable.”

She snatched her hand back and scowled. “Next time, I’ll leave you to rot in there.”

And then she turned on her heel, gritting her teeth as he threw his head back and laughed. “No, you won’t. You like seeing me naked way too much for that.”

She stormed out of the bathroom, fuming and heart pounding.

Back in the kitchen, she noticed that the water in the pot had boiled over. The stove was a mess and the pasta had begun to stick to the pot.

She barely managed to turn off the stove, when Rhys entered. He had shut off the shower and wrapped a towel across his hips. She glared at him and said, “After you’re done fixing the bathroom, you can clean up this mess, too.”

He just smirked at her. “Sure, darling. Anything you want.”

Feyre gripped the wooden spoon so hard her knuckles turned white. “Oh, don’t use that voice with me. I’m not one of your bimbos that will melt and bend over backwards because you’re being all tall, dark and seductive.”

“But is there a way for me to get you to melt and bend over backwards?” He replied not missing a beat. As always.

She batted her eyes at him, smiling sweetly. “Yes. By cleaning up the mess in the bathroom and the kitchen _after_ you put on some damn clothes.”

He let out another roaring laugh and sketched a small bow. “Then I will do that first.”

She shook her head, watching him retreat into his bedroom.

That roommate of hers was going to be the death of her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> illyrian-bookworm asked for: “STOP LEAVING ALL YOUR TRASH/DIRTY DISHES EVERYWHERE, or an argument about manners”

Rhys came into the kitchen to get a glass of water, only to be greeted by a grisly sight. The counters were littered with dozens of containers of take out. By the smell, he knew that some of the food had spoiled and he crinkled his nose in discomfort.

Feyre had been in one of her moods lately.

She’d taken over their shared living space, littering the living room with canvases and brushes and paints and the kitchen with paint-stained cups and.. mostly-empty take out boxes.

He hadn’t minded.

At first.

It had been a while since she’d painted last and that excited gleam in her eyes had been worth it. He could live through a little discomfort, if it meant that Feyre had that bounce back in her step and took in her surroundings with interest again, always looking for a new scene to paint.

But.. it had been almost two weeks now.

Two weeks of Feyre wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie, which Rhys was fairly sure was one of his, and an old pair of leggings.

Two weeks of her not leaving the apartment unless it was strictly necessary.

Two weeks of wet canvases laid out on the couch, the dining table, the floors, the bathroom.

Two weeks of hissing when he came too close or made a sound that interrupted her work.

Rhys opened the cabinet, only to find it empty. All their cups were strewn around the apartment and.. dirty.

Rhys was done.

Exhaling sharply through his nose to control his annoyance, he made his way to the living room. “Hey Feyre, you got a second?”

She let out a little growl. It was a clear message: _piss off, I’m busy_.

Still, Rhys stepped closer, making sure not to step onto the many canvases on the floor and approached her.

She was sitting at an awkward angle, legs spread, kneeling with one brush between her teeth and the other in her hand.

Her hair was pulled into a messy bun that was held together with another brush. Some weird emotion rushed through him, as he realised that the brush in her hair had not been clean when the had stuck it there. Her golden-brown hair was streaked with paint. As well as every exposed inch of her skin and her clothes.

Actually, his clothes. _Again_.

Noticing his presence behind her, the spat out the brush and glowered at him. “Go away, Rhys, I’m busy.”

“I can see that.” He said slowly, flatly. “But we really need to talk about this.”

She sighed, deeply. Then she sat back, groaning softly as she arched her back.

It was one of the sounds that Rhys tried very hard to ignore. One of the sounds that were too obscene to be made outside of the bedroom.

“What is it, now?” She snapped and tilted her head back to look up at him.

She stretched her tight muscles as she did so and Rhys forced his eyes to stay on her face. God, was she doing this on purpose?

“Um, the apartment is kind of a mess.” Rhys began and Feyre frowned at him, brows crinkling, lips pursing.

“You said, you were okay with me painting.” Her tone was accusatory. Sharp. She almost looked hurt.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “It’s not about the painting, Feyre. It’s about everything else around here.”

He swept out his arm and gestured to the mess behind them. From here, he could make out at least three more boxes of take out and six dirty glasses.

Feyre followed his gaze and froze. “Oh.”

And he was honestly surprised when she twisted around and took in the place around her.

“Yeah.” He said when she was silent for a while, eyes wide and her full lips parted softly.

She must have been biting down on her lower lip, because it looked swollen and pink and… Rhys dragged his eyes back up to her eyes and shifted from one foot to the other.

“I didn’t realise.” Feyre muttered, then she looked down at herself and seemed to take in the paint staining her whole body. The carpet. Everything. “Sorry.”

Her voice sounded so small and broken, that Rhys crouched down and gripped her by the chin. It took a while for her to meet his gaze and he found her eyes welling with unshed tears.

“Hey.” He said softly, heart breaking at the sight of her like this. At the thought that he had caused it. “I love your paintings. I love how it makes you feel, when you paint. Just.. don’t turn our place into a dumpster, okay?”

She let out a soft, teary chuckle and nodded. “I’ll clean it up now.”

“I’ll help you.” He said, but she was already shaking her head.

“No, I made the mess, I’ll clean it up.”

Rhys gave her a small grin and said, “How about I help you now and you’ll wash the dishes for the next two weeks.”

She chuckled again, but this time there were no tears. “Sounds fair.”

So, they went to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked for: “oh, you’ve started stealing my socks now?”

Rhys woke up to the sound of muffled curses from the other side of his bedroom door. He rubbed his eyes as he opened the door and flicked on the lights in the hallway.

Feyre was sprawled on the floor before him. She was wearing a tight-fitting purple shirt and a pair of boxer shorts that he was fairly certain had gone missing from his laundry a couple days ago.

“Ouch.” She grunted, face planted on the plush carpet. “I think I’m dead.”

Rhys huffed out a low chuckle and bent down to help her stand. “Next time, try turning on the lights before attempting to do whatever it is you were trying to do.

Feyre blinked up at him dazedly and let him set her back on her feet. “Thanks.” She grumbled and he watched in amusement as her eyes got stuck on his bare chest.

“Sorry, I woke you up.” She muttered and then slipped past him and opened her own bedroom door. “Good night.”

-

Rhys came home at 2 am, drunk and starving and still laughing about the dumb joke Cassian had told him as a goodbye.

He was surprised to find Feyre curled up on the couch. The tv was turned on, its flickering lights the only illumination in the room and Feyre was snoring softly.

He couldn’t help himself, he plopped down on the couch beside her, trying not to wake her. But it seemed that he had less control of his body than he had thought.

She jolted and reflexively pulled the blanket higher around her. “Wha- Rhys?”

He let his head fall back against the couch and exhaled in a long sigh, snickering softly. “Who else could it be, Feyre darling?”

She snorted, rubbing her eyes and taking him in. “Gods, you’re drunk.”

He snickered again, fighting and failing to keep his eyes open. “Yeah.”

He knew without looking, that she was rolling her eyes. She always inhaled differently when she was doing it. And he smiled to himself at the thought.

The couch shifted underneath him, as Feyre stood and reached a hand from him. “C’mon, big guy, let’s get you into bed.”

The words sent a thrill through him but Rhys reminded his drunk brain, that she meant for him to get into his bed. Alone. Not into hers. Not with her.

Still, Rhys let her pull him to his feet and when he looked down at Feyre, he saw that she was once again wearing his hoodie. The hoodie, that she had secretly swiped from his closet and covered in paint stains, that wouldn’t come off.

He had to admit, that it looked better on her and with the evidence of her true passion written all over it.

Rhys was still smiling to himself when she tucked the covers around him and placed a glass of water and an advil on his bedside table.

“Good night, Rhys.”

“Night, Feyre darling.” He mumbled, before falling asleep.

-

“Feyre, hurry up!” Rhys called, carrying the bowl of popcorn towards the couch. She’d been in the shower for the past thirty minutes and the pizza was starting to get cold.

“I’ll be out in a sec.” Feyre yelled back, the water cutting off.

Rhys had to force himself to keep his back turned as the bathroom door creaked open and she darted into her room with nothing but that towel of hers wrapped around her probably still wet body.

It took Feyre longer than a sec and when she finally came out into the living room Rhys was toying with the remote impatiently. He took her in, hair wrapped in a big towel, wearing his hoodie and boxer shorts.

He was smirking when he asked, “Is something wrong with your own clothes, Feyre darling?”

She gave him a stern look and flung herself onto the couch right beside him. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because, it seems that lately I only ever see you wearing mine.”

She clicked her tongue, grabbing for the remote. Then, shaking her head and smiling softly, she said, “I like yours better.”

Rhys stretched his arms across the back of the couch. There was something in her voice that made his heart beat faster, but he forced himself to remain calm.

Feyre tucked her feet under her body and Rhys chuckled at the sight of her feet. “Oh, so you’ve started stealing my socks now, too?”

Feyre inhaled, that sound she made when she was rolling her eyes and his grin widened.

“Did you want them back?” She asked, her voice now teasing. “Like right now?”

“Keep them. All of them.” Rhys said and sucked in a breath, when Feyre leaned back on the couch and brushed against his arm. “They look better on you anyways.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the Gang gets drunk, Rhys lays it on way too thick and Feyre accidentally gropes Rhys

Feyre was lounging on the couch, fiddling with the still chilled beer in her hands and listening to Mor and Cassian bickering about how he wouldn’t be able to do push ups with her sitting on his back.

Azriel and Rhys were in the kitchen, speaking in low, hushed voices and Amren seemed to be dozing in the armchair, her blood-red lips slightly parted.

No one was paying attention to the tv, despite the fight that had broken out an hour ago about which movie they would watch.

“Alright, that’s it.” Cassian proclaimed loudly. Then he began pushing the coffee table and little fur rug away to clear the middle of the cramped living room.

“What are you doing, Cass?” Rhys asked, poking his head through the door, already frowning.

“Proving my point.” Cassian grumbled, even as Mor snorted and got out of the way.

Feyre sipped from her beer, smiling to herself. “He’s gonna do push-ups with Mor sitting on his back.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Cass? You’ve had too much to drink, you’ll just throw up.”

Cassian flipped him off, then shot back, “Just cause you can’t do it, doesn’t mean I can’t either, brother.”

Rhys stepped further into the room, Azriel joining him. Even Amren cracked open an eye.

Cassian got into position and a wickedly grinning Mor took her place on his back. She sat daintily, like a lady atop a horse and even crossed her legs, fluttering her eyelashes. “Impress me, hunky dunky.”

Cassian let out a small grunt, but kept steady beneath her.

“Twenty bucks says he manages twenty push-ups.” Amren said quietly.

A ghost of a smile flickered on Azriel’s face. “Fifteen and then he throws up.”

“Fuck off.” Cassian groaned and lowered himself to the ground.

“Five and Mor cheats.” Rhys added, with a smirk.

Feyre licked her lips. “Bold of you guys to make fun of him when you’re just standing there.”

Cassian let out a startled laugh and came back up. “I know I can always count on you, Feyre. But Rhysie can’t keep up with me even if he were fully sober.”

She snickered into her bottle and watched as Rhys pursed his lips. Azriel just faintly shook his head and came to sit down beside her.

“Alright then.” Rhys said, rolling his neck and fixing Feyre with a look. “I’ll prove you both wrong.”

Mor let out a snort that turned into a coughing fit.

But Rhys was already there, reaching for Feyre’s hand and pulling her off the couch. “Let’s see who breaks first, Cassian.”

Feyre really tried to block out all of her thoughts as she watched Rhys kneel before her and then stretch out his body parallel to Cassian’s. His shirt was thin enough for her to watch his muscles ripple and she clamped down on her urge to lick her lips.

“C’mon.” Rhys said, smirking over his shoulder at her and Feyre found herself sitting down face to face with Mor in the same position as the blonde.

She tried to think about anything but the hard, warm body beneath her and swallowed hard. Mor flashed her a grin and Feyre couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.” Cassian spat at Rhys and the two of them began moving.

Feyre was already a little tipsy, so she sought a purchase to steady herself and didn’t realise what she had grabbed until her fingers were already digging into his flesh.

His thigh, she told herself even as she felt his muscles flex and Rhys let out a startled breath. Her hand shifted, finding a less intimate position and she avoided looking at Mor or anyone for the next few push-ups.

After the twentieth push-up both guys were shaking and sweaty and grunting with each movement. Feyre was starting to feel a little dizzy herself from being launched up and down and even Mor looked a little queasy.

“I don’t know about you boys, but I think Morrigan will throw up before Feyre does.” Amren quipped.

Both guys froze and she could feel Rhys’ eyes on her and despite the flush and sweat, he raised an eyebrow in question.

Cassian grumbled something and Rhys’ expression shifted. He smirked at his friend and when they locked eyes, both of their shoulders relaxed.

“Stalemate?” Rhys asked, his voice a little rough.

Cassian just nodded.

Then both of them exhaled sharply and just let themselves drop to the floor.

Mor yelped, rolling off Cassian but Feyre lost her balance completely and sprawled on top of Rhys. She felt his sticky shirt dig into her chest and stomach and for a second the world spun too fast for her to move.

Then, she realized that it wasn’t just the world spinning, but that the mountain of flesh and muscle beneath her was quaking.

Rhys was _laughing_.

She pushed up from him, hands digging into his shoulders and scowled. “Sorry.”

“If had known you were so desperate to grope me, Feyre darling, I would have let you be on top of me a _long_ time ago.”

Cassian and Mor snorted out laughs and Feyre even heard a faint chuckle from Azriel.

Only Amren was stone-faced. “I believe, I am owed my winnings.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Rhys is acting strange, Feyre went on a date and they have a heart to heart

Rhys was definitely mad at her. However, Feyre couldn’t think of a reason why he should feel that way.

She had kept her word, containing her mess to her own bedroom and washing the dishes and getting rid of her trash.

Still, she had the feeling that Rhys was mad at her.

It was still early enough in the morning, that she tried to make as little noise as possible as she fixed a boring breakfast for herself. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to add to his reasons by waking him up on a saturday at 7 am.

Her phone was on the counter beside her as she chewed on her cereal and tried to think of a reason for Rhys glowering at her for the last three days.

She couldn’t think of anything.. except- _no_.

No, there was no way that Rhys was mad at her for doing that.

For going on a date with a guy. He went on plenty of dates himself. Had even brought a few girls back home in the last couple of months.

So, that couldn’t be it. Nope.

Her phone buzzed and she smiled softly to herself as she read the message from Tarquin: _I really enjoyed our date. When can I see you again?_

Feyre fought her blush and began typing her reply when Rhys emerged into the kitchen, looking sleepy and grumpy and distracting as always.

She didn’t know why he insisted on sleeping without a shirt, but somehow the sight never failed to daze her. She forgot the half-written text and tried to sneak a glance without getting caught.

“Morning.” Rhys said, walking past her and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Morning.” Feyre replied cautiously. “You’re up early.”

He just shrugged and sat down next to her. “You gonna finish that?” He pointed at her bowl.

With a sigh, Feyre pushed it towards him. “Enjoy.”

He dug in. With his shoulders tensed and uncharacteristically silent, even for an early morning, Rhys ate the rest of her cereal.

Her phone buzzed again but she ignored it. She knew that it was probably Tarquin again and somehow she couldn’t bring herself to see what he had to say when Rhys was right next to her. And there was something obviously wrong with him. Something wrong between them.

“Aren’t you going to read that?” Rhys asked after a while.

Now it was her turn to shrug.

“So, the date couldn’t have been that good if you’re ignoring him now.” Rhys muttered, his voice carefully blank.

Feyre made a noncommittal sound and twisted in her seat to look at him. “I don’t want to talk about my date. I want to talk about what’s been bothering you.”

Rhys shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and gave her a long look. His face seemed to say, _there’s nothing bothering me._

She snorted and snatched up her phone. The message wasn’t from Tarquin. She felt her face go slack as the blood drained from it and she must have made a sound because Rhys stopped eating and turned to face her.

“What?”

Feyre swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding so hard and fast that it hurt. With shaking fingers, she handed Rhys the phone and got up from her seat.

_You’re mine. I’ll find him and make sure he knows it._

The number was unfamiliar, likely because she had blocked every number that he had used to contact her before. But he didn’t need to sign his name for her to know. _Tamlin_.

“Feyre.” Rhys said as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched and just like that the featherlight touch was gone.

“Sorry.” She muttered, tears prickling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to-”

Her voice broke and as the tears slipped from her eyes, she flung herself into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her immediately.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rhys muttered, hands rubbing soothing circles against her back. “Shh, It’s okay.”

She fought against the tears, against the terror and the memories that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Shit, Feyre, I’m so sorry.” Rhys said after a long while in which she could do nothing but take comfort in his arms.

She pushed away from him, frowning. “What? Why are _you_ sorry for?”

“Because,” Rhys said, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “For how I’ve been acting for the past few days. I’m just as bad as he is.”

She knew he meant Tamlin. But still, she didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

His hand dropped from her cheek and ran through his own hair instead. “Gods, Feyre, I was pissed off because you went on a date with Tarquin and instead of telling you, I acted like a dick.”

The breath was knocked from her lungs as she gaped at him. “You- what?”

Rhys swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I- I’m just sorry.”

Feyre shook her head. “No, wait- Why were you pissed off?”

He let out a startled laugh and rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

Something warm and hopeful and too exciting awoke in her chest. Something that felt a lot like little wings fluttering inside her chest and she realised, why she hadn’t been too excited about texting Tarquin back.

Come to think of it, despite all his kind words, Tarquin hadn’t even managed to ignite any feeling that resembled the one now alive inside her now.

She bit her lip. “You never said anything.”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow and despite how his eyes seemed to burn with emotion, a small teasing grin spread on his lips. “Not directly, but..”

Feyre huffed out a laugh. “Damn it, Rhys, I’ve listened to you telling girls in excruciating detail what you wanted to do with them. Do you really think, you teasing me would register as actual flirting?”

He chuckled, leaning back a little to run both hands through his hair. “Mor and Cassian kept telling I was laying it on too thick.”

Feyre didn’t know what to do with that information. Didn’t know what to do with her body. So, she just sat down again and looked at him. “I mean yes, all the pet names and running around half-naked all the time, sure, but that’s just you being you.”

He smirked at her now. “Do you want me to tell you in excruciating detail what I want to do with you, Feyre darling?”

Feyre blushed. She couldn’t help herself. Not when Rhys had leaned forward, with his elbows on his thighs and those intense eyes fixed on her face.

And she knew without having to think about it, that a second date with Tarquin would be a waste of time. And as she met his gaze, even the terror of seeing Tamlin’s words was less overwhelming.

“Indulge me.” Feyre said, smirking back.


End file.
